


The Wanking Hour

by nightmare_kisser



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Assassination, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of non-con, Peeping Tom, Slash, Turned On By Violence, Voyeurism, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-25
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-05 23:36:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmare_kisser/pseuds/nightmare_kisser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moran is well aware that his mind is corrupted. In fact, he has known for a long while that he is a bit… unhealthy, sanity-wise. But he really can't find it in himself to stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wanking Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous on Tumblr asked, "Mormor prompt. Seb always feels horny after a hit. One time Jim justs so happens to watch his sniper wanking off after performing a job."

Moran is well aware that his mind is corrupted. In fact, he has known for a long while, since he served in the conflict in Afghanistan that he is a bit… unusual, and perhaps a lot unhealthy, sanity-wise. But he really can't find it in himself to stop.

You see, Moran has this habit of getting off on murder. On killing. On shooting down people, taking head-shots with his sniper rifle, watching their skulls explode and blood spatter on flat surfaces and paint them crimson. He gets off on the bodies falling in a heap on the ground, splaying in spread-eagle, crumpled, and even provocative poses. It's beautiful. It's sick and wrong.

It makes him horny.

So after a hit, after one of his pleasurable jobs, Moran gives over to his more carnal urges and adds to the pleasure. He usually waits until he's in a more secluded place, but sometimes his sniping locations are so well hidden that he doesn't have to travel home, concealing his erection; he can have his wank right there, int he dirtiest of secret places, and no one has to know.

It's after one particular job that Moran is aware he isn't quite alone. He knows his boss is nearby, could walk in at any second, but that somehow adds to the thrill of it all, and he doesn't hesitate longer than a second to unzip his trousers and yank them down his thighs after putting his gun and scope away.

He takes his manhood in his hand and strokes slow and sensually, gripping tight and almost painfully, clenching and unclenching his fist around himself. He tilts his head back, panting, and closes his eyes. He then twists around the head, rubs his thumb over his slit, and glides back down the shaft to the base, repeating the process over and over, pausing only to palm his balls or lick his hand for added moisture until the pre-come oozes out.

And after that is slicked around his prick, it doesn't take long for him to come.

He groans long and low and he picks up the pace, jerking upward harshly and almost painfully, purposely scraping his short fingernails up his length like teeth might, and encloses the wet tip with his fist like lips and a mouth. He wishes someone were here to do that for him; it's been so long since he's fucked anyone, and even longer since he's fucking anyone in the mouth, and he longs for that contact again.

But Moran presses on, thinking of blood and blood and bullets and the sleek design of guns and blood dripped onto the barrel of his rifle and someone's hands running along his body and using is gun to pin him to a wall while they rutted against his exposed member and the fantasy is enough to get him off.

Moran comes with a jagged gasp and a rumbling moan, semen coating his fingers and dribbling down his length as he squeezes the last of it out of himself, riding out the aftershocks and throbs of pleasure from his orgasm with little rocks of his hips.

Then he wipes off his hands with a rag from his bag, closes up his jeans, and stands with a sniff and and a causal clearing of his throat.

And that's when Moran turns toward the exit and finds his boss leaning there, smirking, pupils clearly dilated, and a slight flush across his cheeks to match the bulge in his dress slacks.

"Why, hello, Seb; should've known you liked working long hours too much. Is that what you do every time I give you someone to assassinate~?" a his voice is, as always, a gentle allure of danger and sex and song, and Moran's prick twitches subtly in his pants.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Boss?" he growls, and Moriarty smiles and moves further into the empty, abandoned room and reaches out to adjust Moran's shirt collar.

"Oh, Sebastian, you should know that Daddy likes to check up on all his little workers. And you're my favorite," Moriarty grins devilishly, leaning in to graze his nose across the hollow of Moran's throat. He presses an open-mouthed kiss, hot and edged with teeth and laced with tongue, right on Moran's Adam's apple, and he tenses where he stands, hands tightly gripping his bag containing his gun.

"Where you… Did you watch me the entire fucking time, you asshole?" Moran curses loudly, but it lacks the gusto it should.

"Mm, yes," Moriarty smirks. "And I would like very much if you let me play with you for a while when we get back to my criminal headquarters. If you don't mind, of course~ But even if you did, I would handcuff you and make you anyway. I'm not opposed to force."

"God damn you, Jim," Moran mutters, but he's already aroused and still very horny, and screwing your boss isn't that uncommon, anyway.

"That's what I like to hear," Moriarty replies happily. "Off we go, then."


End file.
